The Tragic Undoing of Sherlock Holmes
by star-eye
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has gone too far this time and now must face the consequences of his actions. Odd combination of crack, tragedy, and anger. Basically: this is what happens when the author has a bad week and uses writing to deal. I do not own Sherlock Holmes et al. Warning: eventual character death
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes had many enemies. He had an archenemy in Mycroft Holmes. His most dangerous enemy in James Moriarty. And then there was his final enemy, the one that he, sadly, had created. The one enemy who would do what no one else had managed in the course of his forty years of life.

It had been coming for a long time. Those who were wise enough to see the signs would have happily pointed it out. But sadly those who were wise were not around to witness it. It was tragic. It could have been prevented (maybe). But ultimately, it was unavoidable.

_It_ being the absolute, one hundred percent, clean snap of the mind of one Doctor Molly Hooper.

If Dr. John Watson had known about it he would have done everything he could to prevent it. He would have reminded Molly of all of her good points and would have allowed her to complain uninterrupted for as long as she needed about the absolute childishness of their mutual acquaintance and sometimes friend Sherlock Holmes.

If Mrs. Hudson had known about it she would have sighed sadly. She would have offered Molly a cup of tea and a safe place to cry, all while feeding her biscuits and plotting better places to hide Sherlock's infernal skull and other such landlady tortures. Maybe actually double the rent this time.

If Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had known about it he would have happily offered to arrest Sherlock. This would be all too easy to accomplish, and it would have served the purpose of giving dear Molly a respite from the consulting detective's ongoing antics and more than occasionally border-lined cruelty.

If Sergeant Sally Donovan had known about it she would have said that it should have happened _years_ ago.

* * *

Author's Note: I do not own Sherlock Holmes (the character, the books, the TV series, etc.). Also, my other stories are not finished yet, but I've been sitting on this one for a while. Short chapters, but the updates will be more regular. I ship Sherlolly, but this is an idea I've had for too long to ignore. Feel free to leave a comment in the review section. Feedback only makes the writing process better!


	2. Chapter 2

_It_ occurred several years after the Return. Sherlock Holmes had been welcomed back with shock, awe, applause, and several rather spectacular punches from one Dr. Watson, which were quickly followed with a relieved hug.

Dr. Molly Hooper's role in the deception had been revealed and she was met with scorn, mistrust, and anger.

But this was years ago and tempers had settled and reason had ultimately reigned. Molly and Sherlock were forgiven their treachery and life had returned to as close to normal as the Baker Street Bunch could ever hope to attain.

John married a lovely woman named Mary Morstan and had two children with her. He and Sherlock still went on cases together, but not with the old frequency. There just wasn't the time.

So who did our favorite Consulting Detective turn to when he was in need of an assistant? Who did he go to when he desired the odd companionship and his skull Cromwell just didn't do the trick? Who supplied him with body parts, samples, and his favorite microscope? Why, Doctor Molly Hooper of course! The One Who Counted! The one who had killed Sherlock Holmes and brought him back to life! Shame that he had such a hard time remembering that. Even bigger shame that even after almost forty years of life he _still_ didn't know when to shut up and leave a person alone.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a long day. Correction. It had actually been a long month. What had started as a beautiful June, had quickly turned into an abysmal month for dear Molly Hooper. Her mother, after three years of battling cancer, had died. Her sister had refused to come to the funeral and was avoiding Molly even now. Their father, who had already been dead for two years and was still greatly missed, would have given Molly the much needed comfort and support that she desired at this point in her life. But it was not to be.

The death and abandonment alone would have been too much for some people. But June had welcomed a killing spree in London, and the bodies were piling up in the morgue which meant that Scotland Yard was breathing down her neck, her supervisors were getting snippy, she was working long hours, and Sherlock was down in the lab almost constantly making requests for coffee when _she_ didn't even have the time to have a sip of tea in the morning!

Add on the fact that Molly's lovely cat Toby was getting on in the years and the vet had dropped hints about her needing to think about when she wanted to put him down… Yes, there was no doubt about it, Molly Hooper was having a bloody awful month.

But today. Oh _today_. Today had so far included a broken alarm clock, dead phone, late bus, disgusting mud puddle, broken shoe, stolen purse, late for work, reprimand from her supervisor, and being greeted with five corpses that needed to be examined yesterday.

And then there was Sherlock.

"Molly!" the ever-familiar baritone voice of the man-child shouted, interrupting Doctor Hooper from the work that she was _trying_ to accomplish.

"I require more interesting cadavers, Molly," Sherlock said coldly from his seat at his favorite microscope (because no matter what he said about not having favorites, God forbid she ever use 'his' microscope when _she_ had work to do).

"Sorry Sherlock, but there aren't any more. Everything's pretty standard procedure and natural causes today, thank goodness," Molly replied absentmindedly, up to her elbows in a dead man's stomach contents.

"Selfish, _lazy_," Sherlock muttered darkly.

"They can't all be the victims of psychopaths," Molly sighed, rolling her eyes at his theatrics. Honestly, he should be _glad_ that there weren't any more Moriartys out there to try and kill him.

"Not that you would know what a psychopath looked like," Sherlock scoffed. "What's the running number now, five men that you have dated have been either petty or psychopathic criminals? Incidentally, your current interest is lying about his marital state not only to you but two other women in this hospital. For a grown woman, one would expect you to not be so obstinately fooled by the state of the world. Honestly Molly, it is as though you _wish_ to be taken advantage of."


	4. Chapter 4

Molly's head snapped up as she dropped the scalpel onto the table.

"What was that?" she asked quietly.

"Simply an observation. Your decision to be a dithering dupe denotes a desire to have others dictate your life for you. You wish to be taken advantage of, whether it is by murderous maniacs or by the more mundane elements of society, and you are uniquely talented so as to make your wish come true," Sherlock sneered.

Molly smiled a small, timid, shy smile at Sherlock and nodded.

"Oh of course, Sherlock," Molly spoke gently. "How _stupid_ and _insipid_ of me to not realize that it's my own fault that deranged killers decide to stalk St. Bart's as well as police stations and Baker Street. After all, you know that I go looking for trouble _all_ the time. And I'm really _so sorry_ that you don't have any excellent cases to work on," Molly snapped sarcastically, her tone having become more and more irate with every word that she spoke.

"After all, every body in here by rights belongs to _you_ and should be as _gruesome_ and _gory_ as possible. But of course, any time that's _not_ the case it's _my_ fault, now isn't it? And while you go _mad_ with _boredom_, I'm struggling to keep up with the work that has been pouring in. But of course, none of this could possibly interest you since it doesn't involve a psychopath." Doctor Hooper's face was a violent shade of red in her anger, her entire body shaking as she glared at Sherlock.

"You are being – "

"You know, Sherlock," Molly raised her voice, interrupting Sherlock for the first time in their acquaintance. She took a step towards the consulting detective, the scalpel gleaming red in the fluorescent lights, fresh blood dripping off the blade as she pointed it in his direction. "I don't think you've ever really focused before on how difficult my job is. Let's talk about that, shall we, hmm? Let's talk about the hours first.

"If I am lucky, I work fourteen hours a day. However, I am the pathologist that is on-call. Do you know what that means? That means that on top of my regular work schedule I can be called in at any moment on any day on any occasion to come into the lab and conduct an autopsy on whatever bodies NSY finds. And then there's _you_ who knows no boundaries when it comes to work protocol! You _parade_ in here whenever the fancy strikes you, take up _my_ lab space and _my_ equipment, leave it dirty and sometimes in pieces for your bloody experiments! And you do it all. The. _Bloody_. _TIME_! You've dragged me here at one in the morning on my vacation days, Sherlock!

"But every day's a vacation day for the _great_ Sherlock Holmes, _oh_ how could I _possibly_ forget that? You who were born with a silver spoon shoved down your throat. You who have never had to keep an actual job for a single day in your life, and don't you _dare_ interrupt and tell me that your 'consulting detective' job is a continuous one. You go when you feel like it, you have a rating system that is absolute _rubbish_ and you know it! You couldn't keep a real job down if your life depended on it, you freakishly overgrown _baby_!"

As Molly had explained (screamed) all of this to Sherlock she had stalked closer and closer, the fires of hell sparking out of her sweet brown eyes. Sherlock had (wisely) moved back at her approach, offering her a wide berth of space, but unfortunately finding himself having no place to run to when his back inevitably met the wall.

"Now Molly…"

"Don't you 'now Molly' me! I'm not finished! You want to know what else there is besides the ridiculous hours and the damaged lab equipment? There's the research, _my_ _research_, which you continuously interrupt and contaminate with your pointless experiments like needing to prove that mucus can kill a woman if heated to precisely so and such degrees! I am a respected doctor, Sherlock, and I have published work. Not that _you_ would ever understand that, doing your ridiculous little experiments then acting as if you're the best bloody thing to happen to humanity! You're a _selfish prick_ who only researches what he feels like when it suits him, who only helps the helpless twats of Scotland Yard when you deem it not beneath your so-called standards!

"You don't care about others unless it benefits you. You _certainly_ don't _respect_ others! You use us, the 'ordinary' people and you think we don't know it, you think _I _don't know that I'm just a way for you to get body parts and a laboratory. Well I do know, and I've helped you regardless, even when it almost cost me my job! A job that I happen to love when you're not lurking around making it a living nightmare! I love my job, and I'm _good_ at it! I do my best to help _everyone_ as best as I can and I do it with a smile _even_ when they're idiots. Like _YOU _are! That's right, Sherlock, you're an idiot! Sherlock Holmes, you are an egomaniac and an _idiot_!" Molly shrieked, finally stopping to catch her breath.

"Molly –"

"And you know what? I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!"


	5. Chapter 5

**WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH AHEAD!**

* * *

The poor man never expected it to happen.

He _saw_ it coming, certainly. He saw Molly Hooper approaching him in a red rage, her body infused with a degree of ferocity hither unknown to him. He saw her raise the scalpel and he saw it come down. He saw it all and knew how it would end.

But he never _expected_ it to come to this. Sherlock Holmes never expected that he would break dear, sweet, mousy Molly Hooper to the point that she would be pushed to murder.

He never saw or expected anything again after that.

It was with a quiet efficiency that had always been the trademark of her work that Doctor Molly Hooper moved Sherlock's body from the floor into one of the body cabinets. She locked the cubby just as she did with every body that was waiting to be autopsied. She carefully cleaned her scalpel, knowing that a cross-contamination would ruin the autopsy that she still had to finish. She cleaned up the mess on the floor, just as she would any other lab accident. She returned to her workstation and finished her job in peace.

The lab was quiet, so she hummed to herself a song that she had heard on the radio earlier. In the span of a few hours she caught up with her work and loaded a pile of paperwork into her briefcase to complete at home.

Doctor Molly Hooper made sure that her lab was spotless, every tool put away properly. She even straightened up Sherlock's experiments, although she did not throw them out. Taking one final glance around the room she flicked the lights off and walked down the hallway to the lift.

The petite pathologist smiled at the evening desk attendant, wishing him a nice evening. She hailed a cab just outside of St. Bart's and chatted with the cabbie all the way back to her apartment.

Once safely inside she dropped her keys in the ceramic bowl that was for keys and other odds and ends. She set her briefcase down against the sofa. She fed her precious Toby, scratching at his favorite spot just behind his ears as she did so. She set a pot of water to boil, humming as she cooked a small meal of pasta and salad. Half an hour later she sat down with a sigh of relief on her sofa, a plate of food and glass of wine with her. She turned on her television and settled back to enjoy her dinner and catch up on world news, leaving the paperwork for after dinner.

After finishing her meal she washed her dishes, tidied the kitchen, completed the paperwork that she had brought home with her, made sure her apartment door was locked, pulled on her pajamas, brushed her teeth, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed. She plumped her pillows a few times and smiled as Toby curled himself against her, purring in contentment with his mistress. Closing her eyes, Doctor Molly Hooper fell asleep with a gentle smile on her lips.

* * *

**A/N There's a bit of an epilogue coming. Honestly, I'm ashamed to admit it, but I actually forgot that I had published this but not finished it. So sorry!**


	6. Chapter 6

Epilogue

Two weeks later saw Doctor Molly Hooper experiencing a much brighter outlook on life. She had a new cat, a beautiful black kitten, that was keeping Toby company in his old age. Her sister had called to apologize for her callousness at their mother's death and had offered the proverbial olive branch. Doctor Hooper had accepted and had already submitted the paperwork necessary to transfer from Saint Bart's to a hospital nearer to the remainder of her family. Her supervisor was sorry to see her go, but understood completely under the circumstances.

However, until the move was finalized she was still Bart's pathologist and she was diligent in assisting whoever came through the morgue doors. Including one Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

"Morning Molls," Lestrade grinned at the young woman. "Still with us?"

"Yep, you've got me for at least another week. Doing all right Greg?"

"Well enough," Greg nodded. "What can you tell me about this poor sod?"

"Autopsy shows that he died of completely natural causes. Still, better safe than sorry, right?" Molly smiled.

"Too right. Hey, Molly?"

"Yes?"

"By any chance have you seen Sherlock recently? He hasn't been by the Yard lately. We haven't had any cases for him, granted, but usually he comes by once or twice to check for himself," Greg explained. The man wasn't too worried about their mutual acquaintance, but he still felt it was his duty to ask.

Doctor Hooper frowned, pausing in the process of cleaning up her workstation to consider the question.

"Sorry Greg, but I haven't seen Sherlock in a while. Have you tried John?"

"Yeah, he said the same," Greg shrugged. "Eh, Mycroft hasn't started pulling people in for interrogations so Sherlock's probably fine. Let me know if you hear from him though?"

"Of course," Molly nodded dutifully. "Although to be honest, I doubt if he was in trouble he'd come to me."

Greg smiled at the young woman, silently agreeing with her. If Sherlock _had_ gotten himself into trouble again, why would he _ever_ go to innocent Molly Hooper?

**A/N And that's the end of this experiment in crack. The weird part is that I actually ship Sherlolly, but it was kind of fun to get out of my comfort zone.**


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